I whip back around to Halston. Her disbelieving gaze flicks from the now-empty space Dom occupied to my eyes.
"Yes." I laugh. "Why?"
"Because Klein is a tremendous nerd."
"Dominic might be a tremendous nerd as well. I don't know him."
Halston smirks. "Yet."
"He's Klein's agent," I add, swirling a blueberry in my drink with the cocktail straw.
"I bet he putMust love bookson his dating profile."
I blink twice, coquettishly. "Good thing I love to read."
A group of men sidles up to the far end of the bar. Halston glances their way, then says, "If you want another round, I need to know now. Something tells me those are the kinds of assholes who order difficult drinks. Fruity martinis, but in rocks glasses because their fragile masculinity can't handle colorful drinks in their proper stemware."
Our blueberry mojitos sweat on drink napkins, a quarter left in each. "I'm not sure." A quick look at the hallway tells me Dom is not yet on his way back. How long should a phone call take? I hope everything's alright.
Doubt slides into my thoughts, followed by little bursts of dread and panic. Dom wouldn't be getting The Phone Call, would he? The call that announces there has been an emergency and the person needs to abandon the date. Also known as the Ripcord Call.
No. He would've answered a Ripcord Call in front of me, for full dramatic effect.
Ugh, I hate this. The nerves from before have returned, and now they're sharper, laced with uncertainty.
Halston waits for my answer. She has a life to live, a job to do. She can't be delayed by my internal crisis. Quickly, I say, "Let me go ask Dom." I add a decisive nod that hides my apprehension.
Halston waves me off, telling me she'll watch our drinks. Behind me, I hear her tell the guys she'll be with them in a moment.
I grab my purse and hurry across the bar, turning the corner down the hallway. Dom stands at the far end, his back to me.
He really does have a nice back. Shoulders. Hair recently trimmed.The guy is not bad to look at.
I don't want to intrude, so I raise my hand to tap him on the shoulder. His words bring me up short.
"...trying to get rid of her. She's annoying, and she has the worst laugh, and she yammers on and on."
My hand freezes in place. Emotions flood my veins, too many to name, and then one comes out the clear winner:mortification.
Dom still doesn't know I'm here. His shoulders are loose, his phone held to his ear while his other hand rests in his pocket. "Pretty soon my ears will beg me to pull a Van Gogh and cut one off."
Heat spreads through my body, my toes curling and my skin flushing.
Should I stay? Go? Grab his perfectly intact ear and shake his head? Purchase a billboard ad with his photo and the captionI make passionate love to inanimate objects?
"...I'm telling you, she's the worst."
GO. Get the hell out of here and don't look back. I'm good at doing that, and once a person knows they are capable of it, they can do it repeatedly. Roads well traveled, and all that.
I pivot and flee. No looking left or right. I do not pass Go, or collect two hundred dollars.
If Halston caught sight of me, I'm not aware. All I can think about is putting distance between me and the two-faced man back there.
I spill from the restaurant door into the hot evening air. A group of women stand around, all wearing dresses that at one time would've been purchased in the lingerie section. One wears a silk sash and an obnoxiously huge tiara.Bride,the sash reads. This is not at all shocking. The pink party bus toting around drunk bachelorette parties is a regular sight on these streets.
My eyes close as I place my hands on my hips and suck in a lungful of hot, Scottsdale air. When my eyes open, I find a few curious gazes from the group.
"Are you ok?" The question comes from a brunette wearing large coral pink hoop earrings. She steps closer, away from her group.
